“That’s right. Mine conked out and I was in a hurry to get some place. I’m still in a hurry,” he added. “Let’s cut out the clowning and get this over with. Call into headquarters, for Christ’s sake, and talk to your lieutenant on the traffic squad. Bemish. He’s a good friend of mine.”
“I reckon I’ll call in all right, but I won’t be talking to Lieutenant Bemish,” Ernie told him with relish. “On account he’s on sick leave.”
“Then call Chief Gentry,” grated Shayne. “He’ll vouch for me.”
“Boy, you sure do toss them important names around,” said Ernie admiringly. He turned his head to spit down on the ground. “Scares hell out of just a plain cop like me. Hey, Barkus? You reckon we had oughtta apologize to Mister Shayne an’ shine his shoes for him?”
“Get on the radio and call in,” grunted Barkus. “Have ’em call the owner of that car to come to headquarters and pick it up. We’ll be bookin’ Shayne, I reckon. Mr. Seymour, here, is ready to sign a complaint.”
Shayne turned back with a sigh as Ernie went to the radio car. The owner of the Pontiac had lighted a cigar and was puffing on it furiously, leaning against the fender of his car. Shayne said placatingly, “I’m sorry this happened… Mr. Seymour, is it? It was purely a misunderstanding. I apologize, and I’ll pay for the damage to your car even though I don’t think it was legally my fault. Could anything be fairer than that? Let’s shake on it?” He took a step forward and held out his hand.
“Damn well right you’ll pay for the damage,” muttered Seymour thickly. “Pulled right in front of me and then ’saulted me without pro…” He hiccoughed. “… provocation,” he finished. He folded his arms across his thick chest and pointedly disregarded Shayne’s outstretched hand.
Shayne turned to Barkus and said to him in a furious undertone, “For God’s sake, Officer. Hasn’t this farce gone far enough? He hasn’t got a leg to stand on in court. He had the red light. I was going through the intersection about ten miles an hour when he hit my rear end. Then he came rushing around spoiling for a fight and threatened me. Goddamn it, you know I won’t stay at headquarters for ten minutes if you’re silly enough to take me in on a trumped-up charge like this. You must know Will Gentry and I have been friends for more years than you’ve been on the Force. You’re not going to get a medal for dragging me in.”
“I reckon I’m not lookin’ for any medals,” Barkus told him coldly. “It’s my sworn duty to make an arrest if a citizen swears out a complaint.”
Shayne drew in a deep breath, held it a long moment, and then exhaled slowly. He moved to Barkus’s side and took his arm and moved him away a few feet. In a low voice, he said, “I’m working on a hell of an important case and I can’t afford to go in to headquarters and straighten this up right now. I’ll come in in the morning, Goddamn it. Let me post a personal bond and get the hell away from here right now. How much?” In his hands he held the wallet which Ernie had given back to him after checking his license. He opened the bill-fold and began taking out bills, keeping his back to Seymour.
“You know the bond won’t be more than fifty dollars if you drag me in,” he went on persuasively. “Make it a hundred… two hundred… to guarantee I’ll show up in the morning to answer any charges that are laid against me.”
He held out a sheaf of twenty-dollar bills and the policeman’s big hand closed over them greedily. He crumpled them up into a wad and called over to his partner who was in the front seat of the cruiser operating the radio.
“We got another charge against him, Ernie. A real good one this time. Attempting to bribe an officer. I got the evidence right here, by God.”
“How much?” Ernie called back with interest.
“Two hundred bucks.”
“Cheap bastard deserves to be run in.” Ernie got out of the police car and approached them with a grin on his long-jawed face. “Headquarters says come on in. They’re callin’ Mr. Duclos to come down an’ pick up his Ford. Come on, you.” He grabbed Shayne officiously by the arm and turned him about. “I’ll ride in with you and my partner’ll follow.”
Shayne hesitated and held back, looking about him wildly. The last thing in God’s world he wanted was to drive that Ford in to headquarters. He wasn’t worried about what would happen to him after he got there. He was on close personal terms with most of the higher-ranking officers of the Miami police force, and he knew he wouldn’t be held for more than a brief period no matter what fantastic charges these two stupid cops placed against him.
But he was very much concerned about the Ford. He had… foolishly, he now realized… stated that it had been loaned to him by the owner… someone, apparently named George Duclos. Perhaps that was the name Al Donlin was using in Miami. Or it might be some friend of Al’s who had loaned him the car for the evening.
No matter how it worked out, he was very definitely losing control of the Ford… with a corpse locked up in the trunk.
Barkus had walked around in front of the Pontiac with Seymour and was helping him pull the crumpled fender away from the wheel so the car could be driven without damaging the tire. He was alone with Ernie for a moment, and was tempted to grab the police revolver from the man’s holster, slam him across the head with it and try his luck at making a get-away.
But even if he succeeded, that wouldn’t change anything in the long run. They knew who he was. It was on the record that he had been driving the Ford when they took possession of it. The instant the body was discovered in the trunk, he would be held responsible.
Better go along submissively, he decided, and simply hope for some sort of break. He slumped his shoulders and said in a defeated voice, “Okay, Ernie. Whatever you say. If you end up getting your ass kicked off the Force for this… don’t blame me.”
“I’ll take my chances on that.” Ernie led him toward the Ford, wheezing happily, and shoved him roughly inside under the steering wheel. He slammed the door shut and leaned both elbows on it and told Shayne with a sadistic grin that showed yellow front teeth:
“You know what I’m plumb hopin’, Mister? That you’ll try to make a run for it while I go around to get in on t’other side of you. I’d plain love to gut-shoot hell out of you… long as it was in the line of duty.”
He hooked both thumbs in his pistol belt and strolled around the back of the car, humming a little tune happily. Shayne sat stiffly behind the wheel and waited for him to get in. The Pontiac moved out of the way behind him, turned into the one-way westbound street and moved away.
Shayne started the motor and backed away from the curb, then followed the Pontiac toward the police station. The police car moved into line behind him and remained less than a hundred feet in the rear.
Shayne didn’t look at Ernie and didn’t speak until he put the Ford into a space in the parking lot at headquarters. The police car moved in beside him as he turned off the ignition and lights, and Barkus leaned out to inform Ernie happily:
“You know what, Buddy-boy? I reckon we done hit the jackpot this here time. Just come over my radio that Ford you’re ridin’ in is a stolen car.”
8
Shayne’s belly muscles constricted when he heard the report. This just wasn’t his night, by God. How the hell could he have guessed that Al Donlin had stolen the car he parked at the Encanto Hotel? If he’d known it couldn’t be traced to the dead man it would have been far better to have left it in the hotel parking lot and used his own car for transporting the body.
But it was much too late for that sort of second-guessing. The car was right here at police headquarters and all anyone had to do was to decide to check inside the trunk. He shuddered and got out from under the wheel, waited docilely for Ernie to come around and lead him triumphantly inside the station.
He’d have to play it very slow and cool. The most important thing was to get that Ford away from headquarters as fast as possible. And then get himself away. He’d already told one foolish lie about its having been loaned to him by the owner. He’d have to change that fast, and he began racking his brain for a plausible story that would explain his possession of a stolen car on the streets of Miami after midnight.
After a bit of low-voiced conversation on the other side of the car, Ernie and Barkus parted and the heavier
